


they say my lover is s t r a n g e

by Murf1307



Category: DC New 52, DCU
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 05:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10960269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Lex, as he works more and more closely with the Justice League, initiates something he cannot classify with Superman, and Superman doesn't make it any easier.





	they say my lover is s t r a n g e

**Author's Note:**

> Set vaguely in the N52 continuity, with references to others.

This is the story of what _shouldn't be_ , he begins to realize as Clark circles closer.  They've both seen other worlds, other timelines -- parallel universes are a staple of fighting alongside the Justice League, it seems. 

In every single one, they are enemies.  Ultraman and Alexander; Alexandra and her extradimensional Superman; the two men vying for the heart of Lois Lane; the reticent savior and the technological wunderkind.  In all of them, they dance in an eternal struggle of life and death that Lex generally instigates. 

The more he thinks about it, the more it eats away at his gut, nestles like an ugly animal in his chest and the back of his mind.

Beating destiny, he tells himself.  Winning the ultimate game: he is singular.  He alone is the Luthor who, so far, gets to keep Clark Kent.  He keeps Superman -- reclaims the beloved Superboy of their shared youth in Smallville, Kansas.

They are, at long last, friends again.

Of course, Lex remains dissatisfied.  He knows, now, that flame of first love never really died: he merely buried it alive under six feet of hate.

But it survives, and sighing, Lex allows himself to feel it.

* * *

It comes to a head with Lex's fingers buried in Superman's hair, and Clark's fingers bruising Lex's hips.  They're both fully dressed; Clark in the costume, Lex in shirtsleeves, tie, and slacks, and they're in an alleyway, having ditched the press after a precarious fight with a refurbished Metallo.

Reporters eat up their team-ups, of course.

Anyway, Lex initiates the kiss as they finally get a moment alone.  The call had been much too close, and Lex hadn't had the warsuit at hand.  Clark, of course, had focused on protecting bystanders -- and Lex -- and Metallo had taken advantage of that.

Lex covers the healing cut on Clark's neck with his hand, fingers digging into the back of his neck.  It's a possessive gesture more than anything -- he saved Superman when the Syndicate came, and in the old, brutal philosophy the world pretends to no longer abide by, that makes Clark's life his.  Metallo can't take it; he tried and got a face full of lead for his trouble -- Lex hadn't had his warsuit, sure, but he hadn't been unarmed.

Clark makes a low rumbling groan, yanking Lex closer for a moment longer before pulling back, eyes a little wary.

"Lex," he says.  "What is this?"

That's him, that's Clark in a nutshell; he cuts straight through all of Lex's bullshit.  And it always throws Lex off-balance.

"You know who I am, Kal," he says, just in case the world _is_ listening.  "When I want something, I take risks."  His tone is dry, refuses vulnerability, because he can't be vulnerable, not even to Superman.

Clark keeps watching him.  "I get the feeling that's the closest I'm gonna get to a real answer from you, isn't it?"

A smirk twitches the corner of Lex's mouth.  "Like I said, you know me."

Clark rolls his eyes, and plunders Lex's mouth in another twisting, delicious kiss.

* * *

Lex regrets nothing about letting Superman fuck him in that alley, even when the paparazzi pictures start to surface under salacious tabloid headlines.

**LEX LUTHOR AND SUPERMAN: SECRET LOVERS?**  

**SUPER/LUTHOR: THE SECRET STORY**

**GAY SEX SCANDAL WITH LEX LUTHOR & SUPERMAN: SEE THE INCRIMINATING PHOTOS! **

None of them matter, ultimately.  He's had his fair share of men, and never hid it.  Clark, though, is likely panicking, so, sighing, Lex picks up the phone.

Clark picks up on the first ring.

"Did you know?" Clark asks, right on the edge of outright accusing.

Lex can't help the indulgent chuckle that escapes him.  "No, Clark.  You had me utterly _distracted_."  He pauses, assessing.  "People are going to ask you about this.  The press, the League..."

"What do I say?" He sounds afraid.

"Well, that's up to you.  You're the one who has more to lose, in terms of reputation.  I'll follow your lead on this one."

Clark is silent for a long few moments.  Lex wonders, not for the first time, what he's thinking, where his mind is going -- not merely because of the effect this will have on both their lives, but because Clark has always fascinated him.

"Well," Clark finally says, considering, "We're not the only people affected by this.  The pictures are out there now.  People have seen them."

"That's true." Lex isn't sure where Clark is going with this.

Clark exhales.  "And being honest with the press about it would be...controversial.  Unpopular."

That's the sound of Clark coming around to an idea -- Lex knows it from their Smallville days.  He makes an agreeing noise.  "That's true.  People will be offended.  They can't see Superman as gay, because their worldview can't account for that."

"Right.  But other people, young people.  Teenagers.  It could help them." 

And that's just like Clark, to think about strangers before himself.  "Also true.  LGBT youth being able to claim you would be a big deal."

"And not hiding...this... It'd be simpler.  One fewer secret."

"Mhm."

Clark exhales.  "Okay.  Then...we don't hide it."

Lex nods, then says, carefully, "Do you want me to call a conference?"

"No.  I have a better idea."

* * *

Clark's  _better idea_ , as it were, is to just treat it the way normal people would, and pretend the press doesn't exist.

In practice, this means that Lex is shrugging off questions about his personal life with a blithe confirmation that the pictures in the _Inquisitor_ are real.  Beyond that, he says nothing.  Online, speculation flourishes -- is he telling the truth?  Is he trying to mess with Superman in a callback to their long conflict?

Frankly, Lex is just trying to suss out Clark's intentions and next move, and it's not easy.

And neither is Bruce Wayne's silent suspicion.  Lex wants to say something cutting about Catwoman, but Bruce never actually _says_ anything himself, so there's no opening to call him on his hypocrisy.

And then there's Clark himself, who hasn't made a move since that day in the alley.  For the record, Lex hasn't either, but still. 

Surely, it's Clark's turn, isn't it?  

Lex waits for something to happen -- anything, really, because he has no idea where this is going, and would like to.

Finally, another fight pushes things a step further.  Lex is without the warsuit, again, and this time, it's a small scale alien attack skirmish.  He does what he can, but there are a few close calls for him -- by the end of the fight, the side of his jacket sleeve is singed from laserfire, and he's extremely disheveled -- at least, he thinks wryly, there isn't a hair out of place.

He's deeply surprised when, descending out of the sky in the aftermath, Superman sweeps him into a kiss. 

In full view of the public. 

There's no taking this back, Lex thinks.  He doesn't know if Clark is making an intentional statement or acting on impulse, but he tries to ignore the shutter sounds of cameras in the near distance and just kisses back.  He sinks his hand into Clark's hair.

At least the pictures will be _glorious._ That much goes without saying.  Clark is a few inches taller than Lex, and despite Lex's training regimen, he will never be as broadly muscular as Superman.  The kiss, he's sure, will provide a study in contrasts in the inevitable tabloid articles -- maybe even the society pages of broadsheets like the _Planet._ After all, as much as Clark may not grasp this, they _are_ society people.

Lex is the one to pull back, to come up for air.  Clark is flushed, and still holding tightly to Lex's arms.  

That's when Lex realizes, abruptly, that Clark had been _worried_  about him.  It's a foreign feeling, though it shouldn't be -- they've been working together for a little while now, and with all their history, his own wellbeing probably does matter to Clark.

Seeing it written on the other man's -- _Superman's_ \-- face, though, still knocks him for a little bit of a loop.

"I'm fine," he says, frowning at him.  It all feels _strange._

He pulls away, and leaves Clark to face the press.  He needs to _think_ , damnit, and for once, try to figure out for himself what the hell this all is. 

* * *

He hasn't made much headway in that -- though he's made significant headway through a bottle of brandy -- when Clark lands on his balcony that night.

Lex has half a mind not to let him in, to punish him for putting him in this state, but he's too drunk and too annoyed not to argue over it, so he lets Clark in with a dark scowl on his face.  "What are you doing here?"

"I thought --" And there's that tone of voice again, the same one that had accompanied Clark on the phone, when he'd been asking for help.  "...Lex, how much have you had to drink?"

"Most of a bottle of brandy, though that's hardly your business."

Clark exhales, sets his shoulders.  He looks dependable, stalwart, and he's _not dressed as Superman._

"You probably shouldn't have flown in your clothes," Lex points out, and drapes himself back on the chaise lounge where he'd been _thinking_ for most of the evening.

"I wasn't originally planning to come here," he says.  "I was having dinner with Lois."

Oh, of _course_.  Lois Lane.  It's _always_  Lois Lane, isn't it?  He can see the appeal, of course he can, but that doesn't mean he has to be _okay_  with it.  It's childish, but he called dibs _ages_ ago.  "How nice," he says, voice dry as a desert.

"Not like -- not like that, Lex." Clark sighs.  "She said I should talk to you about, um, about --"

Lex raises an eyebrow.  "Spit it out, Kent.  Your little stunt with the crowds watching?  I don't really want to talk about that."

"I -- you were the one who wanted to follow my lead on this."  Clark frowns at him.  "Why are you so mad that I kissed you in public?  Do you not want me to do that?"

"I'm fine with following," Lex says sharply, even though that's a bald-faced _lie_.  "If you gave any hint as to where the _fuck_  this is supposed to be going."

Clark blinks at him.  "Oh."

Faster than that damned speeding bullet, Clark is right there in front of him, his hands cupping Lex's face, and Lex is being kissed within an inch of his life.  It's different from the other kisses, here, alone in Lex's penthouse, because there's no one to see them.  No show to put on, not a single artifice except Clark's stupid glasses.

"I thought you knew," he says, softly.  "I thought -- I thought it was obvious.  How I feel."

Lex frowns at him, and a strange, almost hopeful sensation is gnawing at his gut.  "Well, it wasn't.  Still isn't."

"Lex.  I want to be with you.  And that might include kissing you in public, unless you're not okay with that."

"You're shitting me," Lex says, because he's drunk and Clark has just told him he wants to date him, or whatever 'being with him' would entail, and that requires strong language.  

Clark shakes his head.  "I'm not.  Look, I understand if it was just a one-off thing for you, but...it isn't, for me."

Lex looks at him.  "You're absurd.  Absolutely absurd."

And then he kisses him.


End file.
